


I Love You More Than Vodka

by Patchwork drabbles (PurplePatchwork)



Series: RusAme Drabbles [20]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 03:46:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4164501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurplePatchwork/pseuds/Patchwork%20drabbles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Russia gets drunk, it's up to Alfred to bring him back to the hotel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Love You More Than Vodka

"You have to bring him back."

"No way, you do it! He's not my responsibility."

"Not mine either!"

The two bickering nations were interrupted when a third entered the bar, loud jingle introducing his arrival. America instantly spotted them and grinned, coming straight for their booth.

"Hiya you guys! You two out for drinks as well?"

France smiled charmingly while Prussia leant back in his seat. He rolled his beer around between two hands, letting the yellow liquid slosh to and fro.

"Well, we wouldn't be here otherwise smartass."

America held his hands up in a defensive gesture, frowning at the albino.

"Geez Gilbert, who got your panties in a twist?"

France gently placed a hand on his elbow and turned the younger around, making him take notice of the final nation present in the classy establishment. Russia was sitting at the bar, bear-like figure slouched forward and a gloomy impermeable aura surrounding him.

"What's up with the big guy?" America asked jokingly, yet his eyes honing in on the other.

"He's drunker than a skunk," Prussia informed him, shrugging.

France slammed his hand on the table, nearly making his companion jump out of the booth.

"Ah, Alfred! Perhaps you can take him back to his room? We were just discussing the fact that he is scaring the customers by drinking litres upon litres of vodka, so that would probably be for the better."

America finally broke his gaze away, giving France a confused pout.

"Why can't you do it? I just got here!"

"Because you are the only one who can keep him under control if he gets… moody."

Russia had several states of drunkenness. It took a lot to get him there, but once he did there was no turning back. From singing in Russian to depression to threatening people with his pipe, America had seen it all. He knew France was speaking the truth, him being the only one who could lift buffaloes even as a kid.

"Fine," he groaned, rolling his eyes in exaggerated fashion, "I'll do it. But you owe me one!"

"Merci!"

"Danke schön."

America carefully made his way over to the front of the bar so as not to trigger any form of violence. Russia had his head lying on the counter, not making any acknowledgment of the other's presence. The bartender stood in front of him, looking absolutely terrified.

"Everything okay here?" America asked, sending the young man a comforting smile.

"I keep telling him he's had enough, but he just keeps on drinking… If he continues like this I'll be out of vodka in no time! And I'm definitely not the one who's gonna look after him after we close."

"Don't worry," America reassured him, sliding into the seat next of his new charge, "I got him. He paid yet?"

"He gave me some foreign money, and I couldn't refuse but…"

America quickly placed some bills on the counter, making the guy's eyes almost bulge out of their sockets.

"Keep it. You deserved it dude."

"T-thank you sir!"

As the poor soul went to store away his money, America turned in his chair to face the Slavic nation. Russia still wasn't looking at him, but by the soft irritated mumbling America knew he wasn't asleep either.

"Sup big guy? You okay down there?"

Russia finally lifted his face from the cold marble, looking at the blond with bloodshot eyes.

"Go away," he moaned, flopping back down just as fast. "Leave me alone…"

Something in America's stomach twisted. He and Russia had had a long history together, after all. From a young and naïve friendship to rivals to… Whatever the hell they were supposed to be now. He had felt many things for that bear of a man, with his platinum blond hair and rumbling accent. Respect, admiration, rage, a kind of antagonism, the passion to compete against, a certain kinship, regret. Even harboured a crush for him back when he was younger.

But all that was in the past. And now… They weren't exactly friends yet, but they were working on it. Slowly trying to restore that spark they had before the Cold War, back when Russia guided him as a senior nation and he entertained the older with his enthusiasm and drive to learn. Back when they trusted each other.

"Okay big guy. Time to get you back to your room. You still remember where you're staying?"

Russia looked at a spot somewhere in the distance, eyes unfocussed and lips drawn back petulantly. After a moment of thinking, he finally informed America of the address of his hotel.

"Good, that's where I'm staying. All right, Imma take you there straight away."

Russia struggled for only a few seconds before letting himself slump against the shorter nation, almost dragging both their bodies down in the process.

"Okay Ivan, it's not because I'm strong that you don't have to work with me. Unless you want me to carry you bridal-style, and I don't think that's very high up on your to-do list."

America managed to drag the dead weight outside, Russia humming something incomprehensible under his breath. Luckily for the both of them his hotel was only just around the corner, making the journey there not quite as much of a hassle as it could have been.

It was when they entered the almost empty lobby that his charge began acting up. Before America could stop him, two strong arms were suddenly flung around his waist, squeezing all the air out of him.

"I-Ivan!" the blond wheezed, trying to pry those clawed finger loose.

And then even worse; he could hear a soft sniffing noise and trembling movements coming from the man pressed against his back. America groaned and quickly made his way over to the couch.

"Come on dude, don't do this to me. I'm not good with crying."

He sat down on the couch, Russia immediately curling up behind him like a giant feline – a Siberian tiger perhaps. America half-twisted his torso so he could reach an arm around to awkwardly pat the Russian on the head. The sniffing only intensified, shaky breaths revealing how much he tried to keep it in.

America sighed, sliding his fingers through those ashen blond locks – only now remembering how soft his hair actually was.

All of a sudden he was grabbed by the collar, and pulled down with a surprised yelp. Russia's mouth found his ear, hot breath tickling through the distressed noises.

"Where- where is Alfred?"

America blinked slowly, keeping his body completely still.

"Uh… right here?"

Russia shook his head, not making any sense as he continued.

"No, I have to find him, have to tell him- tell him that…"

That giant of a man buried his face in America's jacket, wetting it with salty tears and very much resembling a child. America still had no idea what this was all about, until the Russian spoke up once more.

"But he can't know, can't know the truth. Is a ssssssssssssecret."

America lowered his head, deciding to humour the other (and satisfy his own curiosity).

"What secret? I promise I won't tell him."

A loud sob, followed by the words he least expected to hear.

"You- you cannot tell him that I love him. Is a secret, da? He can't know, can't know…"

Another sob, and no more words as he once again hid against America's favourite leather jacket.

The whole world was silent for a little while, safe for the pathetic little noises escaping the largest nation on this planet.

Then, carefully, not daring to breath, America bent over and placed his arms around the other, pulling him into a hug. The young nation said nothing as he placed soothing kissed on top of Russia's scalp, uncharacteristically quiet.

"I won't tell him," he whispered, voice a tad hoarse and cracking at odd places.

"Thank you…" Russia answered, before successfully losing consciousness.

* * *

The next morning when Russia woke up, he found himself having a terrible headache. After drinking a few glasses of water, he tried to sleep the pain away, only to be once again disturbed by a knock at the door. Cursing the very existence of whoever was out there, he put on his bathrobe and went to check. He certainly did not expect a cheery American sheepishly waving at him, lopsided smile twisting one side of his mouth up.

"What are you doing here?" he sighed, rubbing his temples.

America huffed indignantly, instantly dropping the act of Mr. Nice Guy.

"Well sorry for being worried! I only came to check on you, see if you hadn't puked your guts out or anything."

Russia frowned, making the other even more impatient.

"You really don't think you were magically transported to your bed last night, did you?"

They stared at each other for a while, a faint blush slowly rising to the Russian cheeks.

"Ah… Apologies, I did not remember. …I did not do anything strange, right?

America's expression darkened for just a fraction of a second, then his eyes saddened. A secretive smile played around his lips, making Russia frown. Shaking his head so that Nantucket swung from side to side, he let out a breathy laugh.

"Nothing stranger than the usual. But eh…"

He looked up, looked him dead in the eye, and for some reason he now sported the most hopeful expression Russia had ever witnessed.

"But you forgot something. And I didn't think it decent enough to just take it from you, so I guess you'll have to give it to me now."

"Forgot… What are you talking about Alfred?"

And before he had any idea what was going on, America grabbed him by his scarf, dragged him down to eye-level and promptly planted plump lips upon his own. Russia was frozen in shock, eyes wide and mind an empty canvass. The kiss only lasted a short moment, long enough for America to get this out of his system, whatever it was, because he couldn't possibly…

Oh.

America quickly let go – quicker than Russia could respond to the much wanted touch – and let out an embarrassed laugh.

"Yeah, just thought I'd let you know that- uh, yeah, just- stuff. So, coffeeinanhourintherestaurantokaythenbyeseeyouthere!"

And then he skidded off, keeping his nose turned towards the floor and doing everything in his might not to pull at his hair.

Meanwhile Russia was still standing in his doorway, arms raised as if about to strangle someone, slowly letting the previous events sink in as his face turned bright red.


End file.
